Where Night is Blind
by Pierides
Summary: Where night is blind and terror walks, the scarecrow and the jester shall darkly waltz. Images converge and words resound, and deep in the darkness can truth be found? Hide and seek, stash and find, will there be love where night is blind? Jon/Harley
1. Chapter 1

_A/N:) I've always wanted to write Crane/Harley and I'll tell you there's two writers on here particularly that write the pairing, be in friendship or romance, excellently. **Toccata No. 9** and **E. S. Young**, are amazing authors and after reading them I decided to give the pairing a try. It was comforting to know that I wasn't the only one to believe that, whether as friends or lovers, Jonathan and Harley could have a relationship. You should check them out, they're superb authors. This chapter is more of a Scarecrow/Harley, though, because once I started this the thoughts were just too bold for Jonathan, and he didn't seem to possess any shame or reproach for himself. So here I go, treading the waters of this pairing. I'm hoping to have one-shots up featuring them as well. So tell me your opinions (I always like critique); I'll certainly take your comments into consideration. This was inspired by prompt #35, Lithium from the livejournal community, 50scenes._

_Disclaimer: I, Amber, Heart of Friendship deny any ownership of Harleen Quinzel, Jonathan Crane, Scarecrow, and any other character from either the movies or comics that you see. As much I wish I could own them, I'm not quite sure what I would do if I did. I wouldn't write fanfiction anymore...and that would be sad.

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The first time he had seen Harleen Quinzel, black heels causing echoes to reverberate off the walls, she had been speaking with Joan Leland. Her hair was pulled tightly back. She looked so professional, so practical at least to the untrained eyes. Not to him, though.

Scarecrow, he saw past that coating. Had you removed just one of those bobby pins holding up that bun, her blonde hair would have tumbled to lie as it naturally did. Her skirt, though knee-length was tight on her legs, fitting the womanly curves she possessed. Her loose, pearl button-up even added to the picture. She was pretty, and Scarecrow knew many a man who would tremble at the gentle stretch of those crimson lips whose hue was a tad darker than normal.

Yet, when was _**he**_ ever normal? Jonathan Crane had never quite been so; how else would he have acquired the nickname Scarecrow, not to mention an alter by the same name? And now just look where that landed the doctor and him: staring from the bars of Jon's once directed asylum. The man had never been quite grounded, he'd always been stiff and cruel, and now he was dark. He was a prisoner in his own hospital, not that he didn't deserve it. He and Scarecrow agreed on that. Jonathan Crane and Scarecrow agreed that he had committed atrocities, but so long as he was housed in this dark little hole of hell, why worry about it? Besides, Falcone had deserved what he got. It was only that woman, Rachel, Jonathan regretted poisoning—Scarecrow attested that perhaps that was a little too far even after he had been tased—luckily, though, the woman had lived. Yet it was short reprise. What a pity.

Now Scarecrow, for he was in control whilst Jon slumbered, was faced with an even greater one. This was a deep pity.

The first time he seen Harleen Quinzel, he could taste the darkness on his tongue. He could see the madness that lied just beneath her surface. There was something not quite normal about her, either. Her eyes were sharp and calculating only a shade perhaps darker than Jon's. Blonde and blue-eyed, what a sweet picture of an American girl. Yet sweet did not quite describe her now, no, now it could not be used at all in reference to her.

Her blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, tousled and wavy. Her legs were covered first by black fishnets and then by boots, flat and most likely steel-toed. One was crimson, the other ebony like the feathers of the darkest crow. Jonathan would feel abashed for seeming to leer at her when Scarecrow informed him of his observations, but that didn't mean he'd stop his eyes from trailing the figure of the once doctor. Jonny wasn't awake, so while the doctor was away, the scarecrow would play.

Harley had gone rogue years ago. It was strange to see her now, for she like Jonathan would share the fact of once having traversed the halls free and then be locked in as a patient. Harleen Quinzel, now Harley Quinn, had supposedly fallen for the Joker and set him free in a hopeless plead for his affections. The man was sociopath and a narcissist, love was not a word in his vocabulary. Surely Harleen Quinzel was not blinded so easily.

She had changed. Her dancer body was more toned—running from Batman did strengthen the stamina—and the short skirt gave Scarecrow very obvious evidence of her fitness as her legs tumbled beautifully from beneath the crimson material, whose black belt matched well with the dark cross-stitching decorating the article. He'd not made it pass her waist and he was already enjoying the newest inmate. Jonathan wouldn't deny it either in the end, but he kept his attention on her and continued his perusal, almost wanting to whistle in appreciation.

She wore a black corset, or so it appeared. It was a vest that fitted tightly from just above her hips to right beneath her bust, and what a generous asset that was. The crimson leather that crossed the front as belts matched nicely with the blouse that she wore under it and the skirt.

She was jester, but her stiff body belied no scar to her self-esteem. Her stance was rigid despite seemingly to be following direction. Her gaze was directed downward, but not in submission. Harley Quinn was not broken, and surely a man such as the Joker would have beaten her for any semblance of weakness such as an infatuation with him. Scarecrow was very curious now of the woman, interested in ways that went beyond such a lustrous exterior. Harleen Quinzel had been pretty, but this woman was beautiful in a dark way. His gaze attested to that and his mind buzzed in intrigue.

Her sapphire eyes rose to his and she lifted her face. It was stained with fading white paint, black coating her lips and eyes. She was terrifying, a harbinger, but her eyes were bright and her mouth soft as she stared at him. She was calm and madness did not seep into her expression, only an uncanny intelligence. She shifted her shoulders and the lithium colored chains that bound her hands rattled softly.

Scarecrow watched as she was led down the hall towards him. Just she passed, she tilted her head and gave him a grin as if sharing a secret with him. He grinned back and purred silently.

The first time he had saw Harley Quinn, Scarecrow felt a satisfying fear. She was dangerous, but not for him. He wondered how many people would end up screaming in absolute terror of her? He couldn't wait.


	2. Chapter 2

_(A/N): As requested, I have decided to continue this fic. I will attempt to post weekly chapters featuring Jon(Scarecrow)/Harley goodness. Enjoy this chapter, inspired by the #23 50scenes prompt, "Meditate". _

_The poll on my profile will be open until I complete all 50 prompts, so all those of you who haven't voted yet, please do! I can't wait to surprise you with the winner, I'm quite excited to see what kind of fic wins too!_

_Disclaimer: (See chapter one please).

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The air was sweltering, Jonathan could feel the coarse material of his red-orange jumpsuit sticking to his body as the humidity caused him to sweat. He sighed in disgust and scowled at the glaring brightness ahead of him, beyond the elongated shadow he sat in as he reclined against the West wall of Arkham Asylum. It wasn't that he despised sunlight or being outside. He just despised being outside when it was _**this**_ unbearably hot.

Gotham City, though situated north on the little American continent was filled with smog, pollution, and all grades and levels of green house gases that heat was trapped like well, a greenhouse. He pressed the back of his skull against the cool, brick exterior of the asylum and closed his eyes, allowing his fingers to relax around the book he had brought to read during his recreation time. The Rec room was loud with the likes of the various other inmates, and more often than not Jonathan voted to go outside. That meant he only had his self to blame for being in the suffocating heat—now the eyebrow raising the guards had given him earlier made sense. He snorted and raised a hand to wipe at his brow.

Ugh.

He ignored Scarecrow's evident amusement at his _**obviously**_ well-thought decision to read outside. He placed the book at his side and just listened to the sounds around him. Soothing? Not particularly. He heard the distant drone of traffic that reverberated off the buildings surrounding the mental hospital, or more aptly prison. For Arkham to be the pearl of the state, and the most renown institution, he had often found it ironic that it was located in the squalor of the Narrows, the basic shanty-town of Gotham, and the breeding ground for all mental diseases. Well, when it was worded like that, then Arkham was right where it needed to be—the citadel in the midst of enemy territory, hidden in plain sight. How appropriate.

He was so caught up in his thoughts and Scarecrow busy either agreeing with him or being entertained by his caustic attitude, neither of them had reached out awareness to listen for anyone joining them. Even if they had, it wasn't like a person was expected. Jonathan was hardly ever personally joined in his time outside. Most people stayed away. Thus imagine his and his alter's surprise when there came a caress at his nose and his glasses were snatched from their perch.

His eyes flew open, indignation flashing in those icy irises. He felt Scarecrow's irritation as well. He was farsighted, and thus with the perpetrator standing so near all he could see was a blurry form of burnt orange, one of the other inmates, but who?

"Do you mind?" He bit and held out his hand.

He expected taunting, some twittering remark, but instead he perceived some type of movement and the glasses were wordlessly returned to him. He snatched them quickly and replaced them. To give himself credit he didn't jump when he saw Harleen Quinzel leaning in front of him. He may or may not have, however, shown his surprise at seeing her. She said nothing pertaining to that, though. Jonathan felt Scarecrow bristle restlessly within him and even he was intrigued.

"Dr. Quinzel," he nodded.

There it was. Those neutral lips of hers pulled into an amused smirk.

"It's been years since I've heard that name," she stated her voice matching her expression, "and although the gesture's sweet, it's Harley."

"Well, then, Harley," he straightened his posture. He glanced at his book a moment, "To what do I owe this attention?"

"Sorry, about your glasses, Jon," she sat in front of him casually, "it was just irresistible. As for my being here," she gestured outward, "to be honest, you're the best company. Nygma wants to ask me riddles all the time, Tetch is rather a little _**too**_ scatter-brained, and everyone else is out of their minds completely. Actually it's boring, and I've not seen you since my arrival a week ago."

That had been Scarecrow, Jonathan thought, but he knew exactly what she was speaking about. That scene was clear in his head and had caused him discomfort upon living it when he regained consciousness the next morning. Did Scarecrow have to think such thoughts about a woman he hardly knew, despite physical appeal, which to Jonathan's slight relief—it saved him further embarrassment—was hidden in the uniform shape of the Arkham-issued attire she wore? Harley was still smiling.

"You smiled at me."

Scarecrow smiled at you, he wanted to say, but Harley shook her head, "Or was that him?" Of course, being a former doctor there she would have known about his special condition.

"Him." He replied simply and she nodded and shrugged, "You should tell me how that works sometime. You seem very aware of your actions, so I highly doubt he disassociated with you. You're just as aware of his thoughts as he is of yours. I'm more interested that it's only the two of you existing in that head. You are lucky to have only one."

"Most would say it's quite unfortunate."

"But you don't believe that," she pointed out, "you're quite comfortable with your alter and he with you. You may never have been my case, but you were an interesting criminal mind. I would love to speak with Scarecrow sometime."

Scarecrow purred from the recesses of his mind, but Jonathan smirked blocking out whatever crude remark he was sure the man thought, "I would say your case is interesting too." He watched her eyes widen and then her body quiver in laughter, "Probably not as much as they think. I've heard the stories. Fell in love with the Joker did I?"

"Didn't you?"

And there it was, that uncanny look in those sapphire eyes of hers. A sharp, almost searching gaze into his very soul. Something about that stare paralyzed him in an almost pleasantly unpleasant anxiety. It wasn't withering, it wasn't invasive, but it made him feel like his whole soul was exposed. He had to turn away, something even Scarecrow agreed to at the moment.

He blinked, and when his lids reopened she had her hands in her lap, gazing at him. Her face was alight in mirth. "Jonny, you don't seriously believe I could have fallen that far? Turning rogue or not, falling for that man would have made a person think I'd lost some of my IQ in my descent, and I assure you I didn't hit my head _**that**_ hard."

"So you didn't fall in love with the Joker?"

"No, he only loves himself. My interest in him was always purely professional. To put it in his terms: I was the fuse and he was the fire. He lit me and nothing more. I was nothing more to that man than an experiment." That was stated bitterly.

"Do you hate him?"

"Maybe," she shrugged, "You would expect a person to, but I've been like this for years now. The details and reality of my release may not appeal to me, but in the end what can I say? I yearned so much for to be respected, seen, accepted. He wasn't my love or a knight in gleaming armor, but he accepted me, you know? He thought my darker tendencies were interesting, but only so for his own gain. He appealed to me and I set him free and in exchange..."

"He burned you down." Jonathan stated this simply.

"Yes, but I arose from the ashes. Harleen Quinzel died the night the Joker was released back into the arteries of Gotham. Harley Quinn was the only one strong enough to survive. Do you know what my crimes are in the city of Gotham?"

Jonathan stared at her, for once in his life completely void of an answer. He had no idea, all that he had heard was barely lucid mutters, no more than rumors. He was just realizing this. Perhaps Harley knew because she thread her hands together, resting her elbows on her thighs and leaned slightly forward regarding him.

"I am no explosives expert, my talent lies more in line with yours, of course. I know the mind intimately. My first crime was aiding and abetting the Joker, and you would think a guy like him would at least appreciate the lengths a girl goes to help out. You'd think he'd be courteous enough to simply let me go, right?" Her mouth pulled into a feral smirk, disdain coloring her face. Here was the woman Scarecrow and he had expected, a woman scorned and a product of the Clown's molding.

Jonathan, however, showed her no pity, he gave her a condescending grin, "Surely you must have realized his brand of appreciation includes pain and suffering on the part of the person foolish enough to help him out."

"I came to realize it," she said and her lips fell into a frown, "I don't need to hear it from you how foolish it was, I learned it rather painfully. Yet, I had never done anything remotely horrid in my life. I was always just drifting along, a smile on my face. Yet he pushed me from the speeding car with little effort and no remorse. I suppose I was lucky enough all he wanted to do was ditch me. I wasn't injured, but I was already being pursued along with him. He left me in the Narrows, in a ratty alley."

"Do you hate him?" Jonathan asked again with a little more pressure behind his words.

"Hate is a strong word, Jonathan," she sighed, but the fury hadn't stopped illuminating her eyes, "but I suppose yes, actually, I do. My largest crime was being stupid enough to set him free. I lost my accreditation, my friends, and I what I guess everyone else concludes as a majority of my sanity. I've done little else: a few heists, a few instances of helping the mob out of tough situations, I've even met your boys, Jonny; those sweeties that run your little drug operation."

She'd met his boys? Instinctively his defenses rose, but she said nothing of taking over his business. She voiced no attempt of hers to mess with his compound. That didn't mean she wasn't guilty of any of it, but she if was she wasn't talking about it. She picked at a few tufts of grass surrounding her.

"It's interesting to see you've still got that going for you. They still bring in your drugs. The Master of Fear is still exerting his ghoulish power over Gotham even from behind Arkham's bars. I bet you get questioned about it all the time."

"I do," he conceded, with a small grin, "but those fools in the police department are none the wiser. What business had you with my boys?"

"I told you I've helped out the mob, but don't you worry your little masked head none. I was dressed as a civilian, they never knew Harley Quinn was helping them."

"Harley, how were you caught?" His curiosity had taken too great a hold on him and he switch the subject rather easily.

She laughed, "Walking the streets. That tends to happen. When you least expect it, that's when you should be at your most vigilant. How lame, right?" She shook her head. "I was just walking along, it was a bunch of off-duty cops, the bastards."

She crossed her arms and Jonathan snorted at her pure expression of petulance, like that of a child. She jutted out her bottom lip and glared at him. Jonathan heard another less than pure comment tumble from Scarecrow, but pointedly ignored it.

"Harley, you searched me out. Are your intentions truly only conversational?"

"Partly," she admitted, "I was being honest when I said you were the best company, but I do have other reasonings for searching you out."

"And those would be?"

"Are you tired of being in here?" Her blue eyes found his purposely. His mouth pulled taut.

"And if I am?" He raised a brow.

"You and I are both former doctors, this is not our place. Our place is back where we belong, whatever you make of that. A mental hospital cannot help those who want no help. I'm proposing a partnership. Details are still in the making, I'm not quite sure what I want, but I can see joining up with you and your compound as a smart move for the time being. Surely with two alike minds the business could run smoother." She stood up and Jonathan watched her stretch. He grumbled inwardly at Scarecrow to be quiet as he made commentary.

Harley's businesslike demeanor had come and gone. She smiled brightly at him. "You think on that, Jonny, see ya around." She blew him a kiss and turned away. Jonathan watched as she waved cheerily for the guard, complaining about the heat.

He would now have much to contemplate: a business deal with Harley Quinn? Perhaps they were of alike minds, but also of stark differences. Speaking of differences...Jonathan glared back into the sunlit day. Why had he suddenly forgotten about the heat once the woman had begun talking to him? A mirth-filled laugh filled his ears.

"Shut up, Scarecrow." He bit and retrieved his book to continue reading until his full free time was over.


	3. Chapter 3

_(A/N): All I am going to say is sorry. I was busy with school and play rehearsals last week, but finally the play is over, I've got free time again and so hopefully from now on, this fic will be updated more often. Alright, still I have the poll on my profile, so vote if you haven't already for what next Dark Knight fic you would like to see from me next. This by the way, doesn't count as my Jon/Harley...this fic was an accident; not that I mind that.

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"I've been thinking, Jonny."

He laughed at the gasp Jonathan gave as he stood in the utilitarian, once off white stalls of the normal Arkham showers. Said gasp earned him a mouth full of water and he coughed, attempting to rid his lungs of the liquid he'd suddenly inhaled. Scarecrow laughed harder; perhaps it would have been better to have waited to voice his thoughts after Jonny had finished wetting his face.

"Really, you know I'm here. I do believe the logical action would be to expect me at anytime. Cough, Jonny, cough. That's right...good. Breathe, breathe, br-"

'Shut up,' Jonathan's less than pleased tone echoed around the alter as he spoke from within Jonathan's mind. Scarecrow shrugged in his little area of the brain and his chuckles grew softer.

"I didn't mean to frighten ya, there, but I have been thinking, Jon, on that proposition that Harley gave us."

Jonathan arched his head beneath the hot spray, enjoying the warmth invading his skin after the freezing temperature of Arkham's halls. Scarecrow waited patiently. He knew Jonathan had heard him and he was hoping the man wasn't trying to avoid him. He'd done that enough on other subjects, but all in all it was more or less useless: Scarecrow always ended up getting him to talk, it was rather easy with the whole knowledge he had of Jonathan's both conscious and subconscious thoughts. He tilted his head and when Jonathan opened his eyes Scarecrow was lounging against the far side of the stall where Jonathan had projected the image of his other, observing him curiously.

"Have you been thinking on it?" Scarecrow expectant gaze bore into Jonathan's.

The man nodded, 'I have, but you could easily figure that out.'

"Yes, true, but I know someone who often doesn't like me shifting through his thoughts. I mean, you get rather embarrassed sometimes when I discover certain things, so unless I'm just _**overly**_ bored, I'll respect your conscious for now. Besides I believe it's very beneficial to share our feelings." He was quite serious in many aspects, but his tone was sarcastic as well to get his deeper point across to Crane. He would rather hear the info straight from the horse's mouth than have to sneak about the grape vine. "So are you going to tell me your thoughts on the proposition?"

Jonathan glanced at him and grabbed the small bottle of shampoo he was provided by the asylum for tonight's shower. 'Which one: the one about breaking out or the one about becoming some kind of partners?' Scarecrow knew he was drawing out the conversation by the lilt in his voice and the way his eyes glinted in the gaudy lighting. He responded with an irritated grunt.

"Both," he snapped, "and you know it, Jonny."

'I would like to be free, I guess and I suppose you would enjoy fresh air again.'

"No more straightjackets? No more of this shitty food? Where do I sign, of course I want out of this hell hole! So you want to breakout?"

Jonathan nodded as he scrubbed his head harshly with his fingers, building up a lather. 'Yes, but the plan would have to extremely foolproof. It would take weeks at the least to plan out correctly.'

Scarecrow scoffed, "You are extremely..._**safe**_. Jonathan, you sound as prissy as Nygma. Boring! No, a nice basic layout, sure and a route planned yes, and the idea of perhaps what actions to be taken if force is attempted to to keep us from escaping, no planning it out to the T, I'm serious. No, not happening. One there's no fun in that, you need to experience my brand of living on the edge; two this is Harley Quinn, she may not hold deep affection for the guy, but she learned the basics from the Joker. She's all for thinking on her feet. Between the two of you, and then me, we have a wonderful potential for that kind of thinking. You know you can think quite successfully on your feet, right? Then geez, stop with the safe route!"

Despite the fact that Jonathan was now finishing rinsing conditioner from his hair, he had heard every word his second personality had spoke. Scarecrow knew he sometimes wished their minds were not so connected often with humorous results upon what exactly Scarecrow was thinking to elicit the comment. Now, however, Scarecrow was dead serious. Harley Quinn was a strong character, something about her inherent calmness and her poise relayed that. This was business he was talking about, Jonathan's interest, or at least the one he'd most readily agree to.

"I think a partnership with Harley Quinn would be beneficial for us. She is obviously intelligent, very good at instinctually reading people now, and her education in the mind makes her a very manipulative force. She's an excellent complement for us." Scarecrow stated, crossing his arms.

Jonathan paused then, body stiffening just slightly. 'She is manipulative,' he repeated. 'What makes you think we aren't any more than a bauble to her, a tool? What in her nature tells you she won't just use us and then dispose of us, much like the Joker did her?'

"Afraid the jester will eat you, Jonny? C'mon, c'mon...You're still trained in psychology. You tell me one sign she gave that said we were nothing to her than a means to an end?" There was silence save for the rush of water from the shower head, "See there. She expressed disdain of the Joker and her tone near the end was business like, but she was conversational. She wants us as business partners and that is all."

'You want to be more.'

Scarecrow ignored Jonathan's comment and continued on, "Perhaps we will go our separate ways after escaping, but her demeanor gave nothing that points to a rusty deception."

Jonathan wet his cotton washcloth before lathering it with the pungent soap bar he'd been given, 'Yes, but isn't that the point of deception? It's not suppose to be obvious.'

"You're afraid of her. A woman, you're afraid of her. Now, I admit we have every right to be, but just think for a moment. She was too conversational. Next time you speak to her, really listen, instead of being afraid she's using you."

Jonathan glared at his alter, who only sighed and reclined against the cool wall. "Sorry, Jonny, I know why you act this way, but not every woman is Sherry, you know?"

'Scarecrow,' his voice was warning. The man knew how soft a subject the woman was, but he had to face it.

He once again ignored Jonathan in voice save that his stare at the man became more pointed. "And I daresay if the Joker was akin to her Bo, I believe he'd have come and retrieved such a little spitfire. Even he's not blind. She's not Sherry."

'I know that,' he replied hotly, rubbing the cloth over his cheeks. It was very clear he didn't want to talk about this. Sherry was a topic they often knew was there, but had never really acknowledged. Scarecrow knew the man had wanted it to stay that way, but there also a very obvious problem with that.

"Then stop it. Everytime something good could come of the opposite sex you always pull back because you're afraid of being hurt."

'How dare you say that, I do not act-"

"Yes, you do, Jonny. You do! I've seen it. Now Sherry was an idiot, you know that, I know that. Harley is not Sherry and if she turns out to be, then...we will deal with it. Okay, we will deal with it." He raised a brow at the other man who was looking away from him. Oh, that was mature. He sighed, and decided to let slip a little truth, "And yes, I would very much like to be more than business associates with the blonde, ex-doctor. So would you if you'd admit that to yourself." Jonathan couldn't hide his feelings, he was a man too. Scarecrow had seen his eyes take the woman in quickly, he knew the man wasn't immune to the appeal of the opposite sex. Harley's nature interested him deeply, there was no hiding that truth from Scarecrow.

The cloth was scrubbing at Jonathan's shoulders, Scarecrow could see the skin turning pink. 'I've only met her once, and all I can see is that she's what a man would call desirable in appearance...I suppose.' Jonathan quietly said. He was still feeling a tad betrayed, apparently, but he'd indirectly admit it. Scarecrow smiled at that.

"Yes, she is a looker, Jonny. Men definitely find her desirable in that, innocent girl kinda way. She's the epitome of an angelic appearance, but do **_you_ **find her pretty?"

Scarecrow reminded him of children in elementary school and being asked, "Yeah, but you **_like_ **like her?" He ignored him pointedly until he finished lathering the soap on him. He thought over the question and once he was about to step back beneath the water turned to his other personality.

'Yes,' he sighed and watched a knowing grin spread over Scarecrow's face, 'she's...**_pretty_**, I guess.' Scarecrow heard his thought after his conceding. He wondered if Scarecrow'd ever stop pressing the issue. He wasn't so angry anymore, more like he didn't want to tread back into "Sherry" territory. Unfortunately, that's just where they would have to tread. It was unavoidable now and it was known that was a place that needed conquering in order for Jonny to heal.

"Well, there's a start." He nodded.

Jonathan stepped beneath the spray and began to rinse off. He glanced to Scarecrow was who still grinning to himself. The man noticed Jonathan's attention and the grin fell.

'Why are you so interested in my interest in Harleen?' Jonathan asked, tone emotionless.

Scarecrow shook his head, "You think it's for my benefit? If I merely wanted her, I'd just take over your body and woo her myself. Ladies love my accent, Jonny-boy. You know just as well as I do why I'm doing this."

'I don't need your help in finding a woman.' He sharply stated. Yep, he was right in guessing where this conversation was going. Take a left and welcome to Sherryville, population three! A dank, sorrowful, ire-inducing town that just calls for violence. He desperately needed to drive out of there and the exit was now clear.

"No, because everytime you find one, all you do is see Grandmommy and Sherry. No, Jonny, you don't need help **_at all_." **Jonathan's eyes widened at the sudden, bitter tone Scarecrow had taken. Then they narrowed.

'You don't understand! I don't want to talk about her, I've had enough!'

Scarecrow kept his face straight, "I don't understand, oh that's rich, Jonny, very rich. I understand extremely, and you know it. You also know that you'll have to come to terms with it eventually, and sorry to tell you this, Jonny, but now's that time." He man crossed his arms tightly. Jonathan shuddered both in irritation and anxiety, because he knew he was right. Scarecrow stared at him and his gaze softened towards the once doctor.

"Growing up, your life was hard, we know that. Sherry was a little whorish bitch. One moment she's all over you, promising you a passage into adulthood you weren't expecting and the next thing you know she's grinning cruelly beside that butch, Neanderthal. You were thin, you were often sickly, you were quiet, and most importantly you were smart. You got out, though, Jonny. You made a man of yourself, and it wasn't for your grandmother or anyone else, it was for you. You proved them wrong, just like you wanted to. And I know that had you gotten the parents you deserved they would have been very proud, but you can't let your past or even your present mistakes stop you from living."

"Scarecrow?" Jonathan blinked, all anger gone from him and replaced by shock. Now he was surprised at the man. Scarecrow was often philisophical, but it had been a while since the man had pointed out something and told Jonathan exactly what he needed to hear from somewhere else. He already knew that nothing of his past should have impeded him, but hearing it said aloud by his alter truly drove it home. The man cleared his throat.

"Listen, Jonny, be cautious, that's alright, but don't push away more than is necessary. I want her, yes, but I want her as you because you're intrigued by her. What am I, but your Id, your impulses? No, Jonny, there's no love, not yet, but she's there isn't she? She knows about me and that doesn't affect her. You want just talk to her, then do it. We don't have to be partners with her, but, eh," he shrugged, "even a scarecrow like us could use a few friends. I'm just sick of the past getting in the way.

"You need to talk to someone more about it, like you should have done from the beginning. You know it's the root of all of it. You joined Ra's al Ghul because of it, did all those things because of it, I'm here because of all of it. Jonny, you're an intelligent man, but knowledge didn't make all those years in Georgia just disappear, it made them worse, and you knew it would, but denial is a powerful thing."

Jonathan watched him smile embarrassedly, "Ahem, so yeah...get some help. And talk to her. There's just something about that Harley Quinn, I think would be good for you, and you should take my word...I am you too, after all. Well, I've satisfied my curiosity...You finish up here and I'll pester ya more later."

Then Scarecrow was gone, leaving Jonathan alone. He really was alone for the moment because Scarecrow had retreated, allowing Jonathan to sift through what he wished in his own time. And he had a lot to sift through: emotions, opinions, and facts. He felt strange and he wasn't quite sure whether that was a good thing or not.


	4. Chapter 4

_(A/N): Khalil Gibran owns his story, not me. You can find The Madman online and download for free. I found "The Scarecrow" by accident and I thought, it really fit Jonathan and he should hear it.

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There was something about Harley Quinn that was good for him? It had been a few days since Scarecrow had told him that. He stared unseeing into the book he held as he mulled it over. Well, what were the obvious reasons?

"You think a whole lot, you know that? Can't you just let my words be for once?"

Jonathan turned his gaze, now conscious to his side where Scarecrow reclined, back against the tree Jonathan was sitting before. The man cracked open his eyes and stared, giving him a knowing look.

'I'm not disagreeing with you,' Jonathan defended, 'but I happen to like to mull over these things.'

Scarecrow snorted, "What a hobby, but I get the point. Seriously though, over-analyzing a situation is bad news, I'm just warning you."

Jonathan gave him an indignant look; he knew that, but then he sighed, 'Was there any G-rated reason you think Harley would be good for me?'

Scarecrow's eyes lazily trailed away from Jonathan's, a small smile playing about his lips, "Is there a G-rated reason? Oh, Jonny, you make this so droll," he laughed and then his attention was focused again on him, "well she was a psychiatrist too, I mean she had no specialty in psychopharmacology, but eh. She's not annoying, she's not afraid of you or thinks you're weird, despite the fact she's a female she's talking to you, and...here she comes."

Jonathan had heard the footsteps and out of the corner of his eye had seen her approach. Instantly Scarecrow was gone, really gone. Jonathan probed his conscious for the man, but he couldn't find him. That was great, now he was left utterly alone with the woman.

He looked up at her as she neared him and she gave him a friendly smile.

"You really like it out here, don't you? Do you have a problem playing with others?"

"Did they bore you again?" He didn't answer her.

Harley was, by then, standing at his side where Scarecrow had been sitting moments before. She fell to doing the same before she replied, "Yes and no, in a way they are all very intelligent, but what they talk about usually doesn't interest me, at least the way they talk about it. So is that why you aren't in the Recreation Room?"

"Not entirely. Really that environment isn't very conducive to reading. It's often very loud in there."

Her expression unexpectedly changed from it's brightness. It became uncertain and embarrassed. "Yeah, with all the talking...I'm interrupting your reading time, aren't I? I should leave you to that."

A panic suddenly seized him. He hadn't even been thinking of pushing her away, only making conversation. "No," he shook his head, smiling to make the point sincere, "you're not. I read in my cell often enough. I don't particularly mind the other prisoners, but..."

"Do they irritate you?"

It was genuine curiosity on her part, but Jonathan had no idea how to answer. How could he tell her that he had never voluntarily interacted with anyone? That he was just a person who enjoyed solitary, but it was a force of habit more than anything else? He really wished he had Scarecrow right now, but no, the man had left him to his own devices. Of all the times to respect his privacy...

"Never a social butterfly were you?" She said, amused. He must have taken too long. He frowned at her, but that only made her grin wider. "That explains a lot."

"It's habit. I've always enjoyed being alone."

Harley leaned forward slightly, "The psychiatrist in me wants to snatch onto that, because one doesn't simply choose to be alone this often merely out of preference. There's some inherent cause, but to come right out and ask you would be rude, so I'll hold off."

He couldn't help but smile, "Yet implying that you want to ask is fine?" She had no doubt expressed interest in wanting to know why he was such a solitary person. He wasn't angry, though, actually it was funny the way she had basically asked him the question without actually asking it. She chuckled.

"Call it my way of warning you, Jon," her smile had softened, "eventually the psychiatrist side will win."

"Well, I can sympathize with you there. Being so versed and interested in the mind is almost like a mental-illness itself, isn't it?" He rose an eyebrow, grin never leaving his face.

Harley laughed at that, nodding."It is, I mean it's an obsession almost. I remember some nights just trying to figure out some of my patients, wondering how much thinking was too much thinking. It was horrible."

"Do you miss it?"

Harley blinked suddenly and really looked at him; for once her cheerful exterior vanished. Regret painted a vivid picture on her face, then she glanced away. "Yes, there are times that I do, what about you? You had it better than me: Director Crane, it sounded nice."

Crane glanced at the book in his hands and nodded; she had yet to look back at him. Her eyes were focused faraway. "Nice title, hectic job. But yes, I miss being a psychiatrist, at least."

Harley turned back to him then he noticed it: there was a longing for more knowledge in her eyes; he could she wanted to know what had led him to his fall—a lot of people did, but she didn't open her mouth. He was grateful for that, extremely so, it made feel human not like an outcast. She was respecting his privacy. "You ever played twenty questions?" He surprised himself by voicing it.

"Yeah, I'm familiar with the concept."

He gave a disarming look, "Want to play? We have plenty of time and I'll make sure not to ask any prying questions. I mean we're both psychiatrists, each wanting to know more about the person we're with, perhaps we can appease that slightly."

Her eyes brightened and her face became a flame of infectious humor. She clasped her hands together. "Alright, Jon, you can start."

"And here I was going to be a gentleman and offer you to start."

"Nah, you can go ahead, your idea, you can take it away."

Jonathan pretended to think about the question, but he had known what his first question was going to be since he'd suggested the game. It was basic, beginning. "Where were you born?"

"Unity Hospital in Rochester, New York. Where were you born?"

"Brinson, Georgia," he began and after a moment he gave a fairly truthful reason why he hadn't mentioned any hospitals, "...my mom decided to have me naturally in a house."

"Ouch." Harley cringed, "Never doing that, nope. Drugs are a blessing to be used for such things."

"Agreed, and I don't even have to experience the miracle of birth physically. Alright, favorite bedtime story growing up?"

Harley grinned, "Oh it was your classic fairy tale, Beauty and the Beast. I loved that story, even if the beast was a little cruel at first, he was just so lonely, and it'd been so long he hadn't spoken to people. I mean he grew up taught to embrace superficiality, but as a kid, I loved the idea that perhaps love could have that affect on people, you know changing them for the better." She inclined her head and pursed her lips. "Alright then, Jonny, what's your middle name?"

"You can dig a little deeper than that, you know?" He laughed. She gave him a mock reproachful look.

"I know, but I'm curious. So I might as well use that question first."

He crossed his arms,"Issac, Jonathan Issac Crane."

"Oh and here I was expecting Icabod." She teased and then saw his smile crack a little, "oh, did you get a lot...of course you did. I didn't mean it callously, just a having a little fun."

Jonathan shook his head, "No, I know that, you're alright, it's just been a while since I've heard that used in a non-caustic tone. Don't worry about it, it was childish teasing anyway. I do believe it's my turn now," he went silent to let the uncomfortable air that had fallen dissipate. "When did you move to Gotham?"

"I moved to Gotham when I was seventeen to go to the University. So thirteen years ago, wow, that's a lifetime ago."

"The years really do fly by." Jonathan agreed, his voice becoming softer. So she was thirty, only a few years younger than him. She nodded in agreement, but the mirrored sober expression fell away quickly.

"Okay, enough of lamenting how old we are. Is it true that you graduated medical school at twenty-five?"

"For once the rumor is true, I did." He felt a swelling of pride at that and at the widening of her eyes.

"Impressive," she commented, "very impressive."

"Thank you, and now what about your middle name?"

She flushed embarrassedly, "Francis."

"Francis," he laughed.

"Uh-huh, yeah, yeah, laugh it up," she said in a mock pout, "I don't know what my mom was thinking either. When you're done, I'd like to know when you came to Gotham."

Jonathan grinned, "Seventeen like you, I got a full ride to Gotham University. Were you an only child?"

"I have an older brother. And you know, I bet the family's thrilled about my new career choice," her voice was once again ashamed, but she charged on, "what about you?"

"Yeah, as far as I know at least." The way and tenor in which he worded that left it to her to ask for further explanation when her turn came again if she wanted. "Did you ever want to be something other than a psychiatrist?"

"A gymnast. I got a scholarship in gymnastics from Gotham, but in my sophomore year I had an accident, it didn't put me out of commission, nothing along the lines of 'I could never do gymnastics again'...but while I was benched I did a lot of exploration into majors at the university. It was all searching out of boredom, but I spoke to a Psychology professor one day and I my life path lit up. Sort of the same question, but did you have any other hobbies than psychology?"

"Believe it or not, I'm a really good shot with a gun. I grew up on a farm and you had to know how to shoot. Sometimes those scarecrows didn't protect your crops well enough."

"A farmer's boy," Harley breathed, "how adorable."

Jonathan shook his head, feeling his cheeks burn. This was ridiculous, but it felt good to talk to someone like this. "I did a lot of hunting. Do you have a favorite animal?"

Harley grinned, "Yeah, I like the birds in the genus Corvus, Crows and Ravens."

"Really, you like crows and ravens?" At her nod, Jonathan felt his fingers twist together. He felt like a schoolboy, "I do too."

"They're intelligent little pests, but that's their appeal." Harley said as if confided an exciting secret.

Jonathan laughed, knowing he agreed fully. They were very intelligent and definite crooks, but their behavior and innate wit was what made crows and the like what they were. It was a sort of charm.

"I'll recycle a question," Harley said, "you've gotten me curious anyway. Did you have a favorite bedtime story when you were young?"

Jonathan shook his head, "I didn't, I really wasn't read to, at least those kind of stories," his happiness was sobered slightly, but he didn't look away this time. He stared right into Harley's eyes. "But I learned to read early and I went out in search on my own. My favorite fairytale was Hansel and Gretel. Those kids were smart and in the end the evil witch met her end, and rightly so."

"I always hated that witch. She deserved getting pushed into the oven. So I know this is off topic, but what are you reading now?"

Jonathan glanced down at the book, "The Madman by Khalil Gibran." Harley reached out a hand in silent request and he held the book to her. She took it and settled beside him more comfortably; their shoulders were almost touching. She opened the book carefully, face, Jonathan observed full of purpose.

"You've read this before?"

She nodded, fingers gliding over pages, eyes never leaving as they skimmed, "Yeah, he's a great poet and writer, and there is a particular story in here I think you'd like. Have you read it before?"

"No."

Harley grinned, "I'm amazed this place would let you have any book whose title advertises insanity."

Jonathan chuckled, "Yes, but then again, my ward is considered dangerous. I'm an intellectual so they allow me philosophical and medical texts so long as I behave."

Harley's fingers stopped moving. She grinned and turned to glance at him. "I found it." His eyes scanned the page until he found it. In bold, caps the title was displayed.

"**THE SCARECROW"**

Harley brought the book closer and with a glance at Jonathan, read:

_Once I said to a scarecrow, "You must be tired of standing in this lonely field."_

_And he said, "The joy of scaring is a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it." _

_Said I after a minute of thought, "It is true; for I too have known that joy."_

_Said he, "Only those who are stuffed with straw can know it."_

_Then I left him, not knowing whether he had complimented or belittled me._

_A year passed, during which the scarecrow turned philosopher._

_And when I passed by him again I saw two crows building a nest under his hat._

Jonathan looked at her and she gave back the book. For a moment nothing was said and a heavy hush began to invade the air.

"I'm afraid, we weren't able to finish our game," she commented finally, eyes staring near the sun, "it's almost time for recreation to be over."

Jonathan subconsciously held the book tighter He nodded, "We can finish later, if you'd like. I'll hold you to it." A sense of relief settled over him when she turned to him with a bright smile. He hadn't been aware of the dread that had been seeping into him.

"And I'll return the gesture." She leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes.

"Apparently you're not socially inept after all, Jonny."

Scarecrow was back. Jonathan didn't jump. He'd been waiting for his other's input.

"Mad at me for leaving?"

Jonathan grinned, 'Actually, no. I had a wonderful time, _**Father**_.'

Scarecrow snickered, "I'm happy for you, so are you satisfied? Do you think she means to cause us harm?" Jonathan stared at Harley whose eyes were staring now over the emerald grass.

'No,' Jonathan said, eyes falling again to his book. 'But I'm not sure her reasons for coming to us in the first place were as truthful as it seemed. I think she's like me, a scarecrow who stood in a lonely field, always denying that she needed any companionship, but secretly longing for it. Unfortunately the crow she decided to let nest in her hat was a vulture in disguise, but she's still open for a companion. Scarecrow, I wouldn't mind letting her be my crow if I could be hers.'

For once there wasn't a witty remark to follow him. Jonathan felt Scarecrow at his opposite side. The man was peering at the girl over his shoulder, like he was himself once again. She turned and their gazes caught.

"What are you doing Jonny," she asked, amusement in her voice.

Jonathan grinned back, knowing Scarecrow was doing the same, "Thinking about why you read me that little prose."

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward slightly, "When you think you know, you tell me, and tell you if you're right. It's your time to be a philosopher, Scarecrow."


End file.
